He lost
himself in silent contemplation. Mrs. Hudson had evidently armed herself
with dignity, and, so far as she might, she meant to be impressive.
Her success may be measured by the fact that Rowland's whole attention
centred in the fear of seeing her begin to weep. She told him that she
had come to him for practical advice; she begged to remind him that she
was a stranger in the land. Where were they to go, please? what were
they to do? Rowland glanced at Roderick, but Roderick had his back
turned and was gazing at his Adam with the intensity with which he might
have examined Michael Angelo's Moses.
"Roderick says he does n't know, he does n't care," Mrs. Hudson said;
"he leaves it entirely to you."
Many another man, in Rowland's place, would have greeted this
information with an irate and sarcastic laugh, and told his visitors
that he thanked them infinitely for their confidence, but that, really,
as things stood now, they must settle these matters between themselves;
many another man might have so demeaned himself, even if, like Rowland,
he had been in love with Mary Garland and pressingly conscious that
her destiny was also part of the question.
Pages:
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531